Stressed Out, When My Time Comes
"For the Watch."
They stabbed me. They stabbed me dead. Jon Snow couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He could only feel the cold.
"Ghost"
He didn't want to die like this. There was so much more he had to do. So much more he had to say.
"For the Watch."
Who would stop the Long Night? What was going to happen with Val and Wun Wun?
"Ghost"
What was going to happen? Would someone punish the traitors? Were the Boltons coming? Where was Arya?
"For the Watch."
He never found Uncle Benjen. He never found out who his mother was.
"Ghost"
Ghost was standing over him now. As were Robb and Ygritte. They were looking into his face. He should have stayed in that cave. Their faces shifted. It wasn't Robb and Ygritte but Bran and Sansa. But Bran couldn't stand, and Sansa was missing.
In the end he never knew anything. Didn't know what was happening. Never knew his place as a bastard. Never knew who his mother was. Never knew who the grey girl on the dying horse was. Never knew about the daggers in the dark. He should have known better. He knew nothing.
He called out again. With whatever life remained.
"Ghost"
Jon wished he was home.
•
Alayne vomited.
In another life Septa Mordane and Mother would have taught her manners. Would have taught her courtesy. A lady would have held her composure.
But a bastard wouldn't have to. No one expected anything of a bastard.
Sansa's grief was fear. She feared losing her family a second time. She had long forgotten their faces, their eyes, their smiles. Now she was forgetting their very essence.
Alayne remembered telling the story of her father taking her from the motherhouse. Her lessons to become a silent sister.
Even the very idea of her family was fading. Their gods, their characteristics. Not a shadow of the former remained.
Her father loved her.
Her father was dead and Petyr was taking his place.
Sweet Robyn's needyness bothered her.
She loathed her sister Arya. She could not think of one good memory the two shared. Dancing? Maybe?
Harry the Ass made her cry
Joffrey made her cry and stare at her father's head.
Alayne could feel her bedchamber closing in on her. The walls nearing. She couldn't breathe.
Where was her bedchamber growing up? Sansa could not recall. Did it burn down? Sansa's head hurt.
From the corner she saw a bird, chirping on the window. Alayne thought of Lady.
Sansa wished she was home
•
Brandon Stark watched from the wood. He hadn't seen Jojen in awhile. For some reason he was too scared to ask whatever happened to his traveling companion. Meera and Summer were the only ones who visited him these days. Although Summer had recently fallen sick.
It was hard to feel anything anymore. Not just his legs but his emotions. Everything these days felt like a dream. Like he was watching to learn something. Still, he felt a flashing pain in his heart whenever he saw Meera's eyes. He felt the same pang in Summer's eyes looking into his. And he felt something when staring into his family's eyes.
Bran wished they were all home
•
A roaring scream echoed throughout the halls of Winterfell. The night was dark. Guards and soldiers protected every inch of the castle, overlooking the streets and corners like chess pieces. Light radiating off the fiery torches. The guards spared a moment to glance at each other before running full speed.
There were two high priority targets within this castle on this night. The visiting king and his royal family. And the crippled Stark boy in a coma. The yellow men in stag and lion apparel stormed the king's chamber. Men in grey and dulls flooded the crippled child's room. Only one man followed the source of the shout.
Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North. Host of the castle and father of the boy. He ignored his passing men as he searched for the room. He recognized the voice. It only hollered once but he knew it. Running as fast as he could, panting in his nightgown. Fear trembled with every breathe.
When he reached hallway in which the room lay, his stomach dropped. Dread pushed him to his knees. The gravity unbearable. The door to the room was open, busted down. Two figures wavered in the dim darkened light. Their shadows being morphed into one twisted shape by the flame.
He first saw his eldest daughter. Her face bruised, scratches across her arms and hair darkened brown. Those went unnoticed until later when compared to what she held over her shoulder.
His illegitimate son, barely standing hunched between the wall and his sister. Blood pouring from his face, blood pouring from his neck, pouring most of all from his chest. And the look he saw on both of their faces. Tully blue eyes. Stark grey eyes. They knew him. Fear, hate, disappointment. Most of all judgement. They knew his honor was a lie. That it wasn't enough. And so the faces of his children, his family proclaimed judgement upon him. A harsher stare than any statue in the crypt.
Ned knew that his worst nightmare he dreamt of every night had come true. Ned knew that he had failed. The blood curdling scream confirmed it.
•
Sansa at first thought it was a dream. She was in her old home, she recognized it instantly. Upon her remembrance, the return of long forgotten memories, she realized she was dead. The sudden spring of pain all across her body gave confirmation of this. She remembered her brother Bran taking her up to visit her bas- her half- her brother Jon. They spoke nothing to each other along the way. Jon lying in the snow as she looked down on him. And then she woke up here.
She was in 'Alayne's' clothes. She was not a child but in a woman's body. Did Cersei find and poison her? Or perhaps Petyr had run out of use for his 'daughter'. It mattered not.
She roamed the halls aimlessly, like a ghost. Lady, still a pup, following close behind. Till her wanderings took her to a door that let out a horrific shout upon her arrival. Lady began tearing at the door, as did some creature on the other side. Soon the door came crashing to the ground, with it her brother Jon and his wolf.
She rushed to take him in her arms. His Ghost was being coddled by her Lady. His wounds were far more severe than hers. Yet his mind was of the same.
"Arh-hh" he breathed. "Are we dead?" He croaked out.
"Yes" she whispered back. Maybe it was fitting they would be the two reunited. They were always the least closest. Yet they lasted the longest. All the others died before them and now they were both bastards. They finally had something they could share, something in common.
"Why?" 'To catch up?' she almost whispered. Instead she just held him tighter. They were the last of the Starks. She hadn't seen any of the pack in such a long dreadful time. She began to raise him up.
Jon's black tunic was torn to shreds. By the bloody cloths on his fingers it must've been by his own hand. Smoke came from his left hand too. Maybe she could sew them up new garments in this afterlife.
She didn't think much when she saw her father's face. Other than they were not alone in this purgatory.
Soon she heard her mother scream. It was a pained yell. One that could echo in one's mind forever. This only served as further confirmation they were all dead.
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This series should be relatively short. If you like it, please Fav/Follow and give me a review. Feedback is my food.
Jon and Sansa are the protagonists of this fic as they're my 2 favorite Starks and are probably the most similar despite being the 2 farthest apart. They both serve as the most basic fairytale archetypes. Jon is the hero, he's a long lost prince, a ranger, a member of an ancient knights order who fights the dark evil with his magic sword, magic pet and fat friend Sam. And Sansa is the princess in the tower. You've also got the bastard+broken dreams parallels, Jon fulfilling Sansa's wish of beheading Janos Slynt and so forth.
